It's Alright, I'm Only Bleeding
by KelBub
Summary: Sequel to Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't. Tragedy strikes again.
1. Chapter 1 Teaser

It's All Right, I'm Only Bleeding

Okay, here's my weak attempt at the sequel to "Sometimes it hurts, Sometimes it doesn't". I've been suffering from a writer's block (again) and kinda still do. Thought I'd post this little teaser though and hope a little feedback will release me from the clutches of hell. Be gentle.

- Kel

--

**It's Alright, I'm Only Bleeding**

_He crossed the street, eyes closed and still counting, relying on muscle memory to take him there. And…5056. He stopped, pulled his jacket closer around him and blinked rapidly before squeezing his eyes shut __again at the rain. Then he opened them, let the raindrops gather on his lashes and fall down his face like tears guys didn't cry. He'd come here before, lots of times, and it was never enough. _

_Five more steps and he'd be at the door. 5061 steps in 23 minutes. Only there was nothing left for him there and time didn't matter. The house was empty, quiet and dark, its inhabitants long gone. _

_Time had been merciless. Weather and wind and __the occasional squatters had ravaged the house; its wood rotten and its paint in cracks, falling off. Graffiti covered the house, obscene images and messages had been spray painted across the front door like some kind of twisted bulletin board. Planks that someone had nailed carefully over the windows once had been torn off and the windows smashed, shards of broken glass still lying scattered on the front lawn. This was the punishment. And instead of being directed at the people that had lived there, it had been directed at the house and it hadn't hurt a soul. Except him. Life wasn't fair and justice almost never served. _

_He ran a cold hand through dark brown hair as his eyes travelled the length of the house. He sighed heavily then slipped his hands in his pockets and walked away. _

**CHAPTER ONE (TEASER)**

"Dean, get it together, dammit!"

Dean Winchester could hardly make out the shape of his father from across the room. The smoke that surrounded them was thick, scorching hot and burned his eyes. Tears from heat and terror made his vision blurry and his throat was raw and aching from inhaling way too much smoke. He coughed helplessly into the darkness and unable to cover his mouth inhaled another lungful of black smoke. He squeezed his arms tighter around his unconscious brother and pulled again, trying harder this time to ignore the burn of the flames around them.

"C'mon Sammy," he panted softly, "Gotta get your heavy ass outta here."

Dean struggled with his burden a few more steps until finally he reached his father. John grabbed his leg and pulled him back against the wall with a painful hiss.

"Get yourself and your brother out of here now!"

His dad was in a lot of pain - Dean could tell. The way his face scrunched up as he spoke, his words all slurry and drunken sounding was making Dean's pulse race. The thumping of heartbeats in his ears got so bad it was drowning out everything else. John wouldn't make it out of there, not without help. And by the look of things, neither would he or his brother.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

"_To love someone unconditionally is to give constantly and never expect anything in return."_

Sam awoke to the flurry of activity surrounding him. He opened his eyes but couldn't see anything but a blur of indefinable shapes swish past him. Weird noises and loud, strangely warped, voices added to the utter confusion as to his whereabouts. He twisted slightly on his back and jerked suddenly when something brushed against his arm. The contact brought him an intense pain, like fire, and he growled and swatted sluggishly at the source of his agony. Warm fingers closed around his wrists then, squeezing softly, and a gentle soothing voice filtered in through the noise. It was like he was underwater and all he could make out was 'Sam', but whoever they were they knew his name and that was comfort enough. He rolled onto his back, immediately calm, and let the soft voice lull him back to sleep. He never felt the strong arms wrap around him and lift him off the ground, nor was he aware that he was outside.

The next time he woke it was to a horrible headache so bad it felt like his eyes would throb out of his skull. He groaned and then there was movement next to him and a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Sam?"

Sam grunted, shocked, but oh so happy, because that was his dad, alive and well and the last thing Sam remembered was the werewolf charging at them after his brother had missed the shot, silver bullet cutting into a furry arm instead of the creature's heart.

"Son, can you hear me?" John's voice was hoarse and his breathing heavy like he had to force every breath.

Sam wanted to respond, he really did. But his throat ached and he could barely form a thought around the pounding in his skull.

**TO BE CONTINUED?**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey people

A/N: Hey people! How ya all been? After a long hiatus of the most horrible of writer's blocks I think it's possible I'm finally back. :) Thank you to those who reviewed the first chapter. As you noticed I put 'teaser' after the chapter title…This was because the text that wasn't in italics was just a taste of what is coming up later in the story. So no answers to why the Winchesters were in a fire or what happened to Dean. Not yet anyway. I hope you're not too disappointed. Well, on with the story… -- Kel

--

**CHAPTER TWO**

_**A year after the escape…**_

"_Life goes on, with or without you. One person's world shattering does not affect another's. So when the moving wheel that is life leaves everything that's been wounded behind, ruthless in its momentum, everyone else scurries after, trying to keep up…"_ -- KelBub

--

_Pleasedontpleasestopjuststopitplease._

_A sharp stab sent him reeling into a black hole of endless pain. And again, and again._

'_Don't knock him out! I want him to feel it.'_

--

Dean awoke with a gasp, agony fresh in his mind, sweat soaking his shirt. It took a second for him to realize he was on a couch, not a floor, and that he was safe, that it had just been a bad dream. _Just a dream._ Releasing a soft breath he tried to shake the mental image of himself lying on that cold tiled floor, broken and bleeding. It was a hard image to shake.

"Bad dream?"

Dean jumped at his father's voice.

"Jesus Christ, Dad," he hissed after a moment, "Give a guy a heart attack why don't you?" He sat up and dragged a hand over his eyes indolently. His mind was still reeling from the dream a little bit and judging by the throbbing behind his eyes he would probably have a hell of a headache later on. _Great._

John observed him from his seat across the dark room, brown eyes lingering on his oldest for a moment, before going back to cleaning the shotgun in his hands, rag dragging over metal the way his son's hand had just dragged over his face. He said nothing.

"What time is it?" Dean turned on the small lamp sitting by the couch and squinted towards his dad.

John glanced at his watch. "6:04."

"Where's Sam?"

John looked at Dean for a moment,_ really looked_, like he always did whenever he caught his son having nightmares. But other than his son wearing pyjama pants two inches too short for him, everything seemed fine. His son seemed fine. _Maybe he was fine?_ No, who am I kidding, John thought. If things were really that simple we wouldn't be here to begin with.

"He's asleep. In the back."

Dean nodded now, remembering. "And he's slept all night?"

John nodded. "Yeah. So far."

Sam had been sick for over a week with a fever that had been hard to control and a wheezing and coughing that had kept all three of them awake for the better parts of the nights. It was only about two days ago that things had finally made a turn for the better.

As Dean had noted and triumphantly told John; '_The creepy 'dead man' wheezing has stopped, the coughing is getting less frequent and the fever spikes are less…spiky.'_ In the Winchester household this called for celebration and the festivities were spent in bed, catching up on much needed rest. Well…for some.

Dean moved stealthily through the small cabin, bare feet warm against the cold floor. He treaded carefully over the parts where the floorboards had split, over holes made from branches growing clear through the wood. The branches were gone now – the holes weren't. He stopped at the door of his brother's room and listened. There were soft snores coming from inside, Sam was sleeping peacefully. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard at the memory of himself alone in his bedroom, peaceful and almost asleep…before the door was kicked open… He shook his head hard, trying to chase away the memories. He tip-toed over the threshold, casting a nervous glance in Sam's direction. He didn't want to wake his brother, but he didn't want to be alone either.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

_Life was funny in a way. Most of the time life __was pretty crappy, but sometimes it dealt you the most precious of gifts. Like right now when he saw the boy across the street. It was the guy…the best friend. And now, them alone in the night, was the perfect time to say hi. Revenge was within reach._

_The boy walked fast, no doubt wanting to get home and out of the rain. He had no idea he was being followed. _

_He'd waited, biding his time. Now it was here and he was ready. A hand on his shoulder and the boy whirled around; eyes confused at first…and then came recognition. _

"_You." _

_That was one of his last words. _

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

_**The escape**_

_They left the black Mustang at the side of the road. They didn't need it anymore. Sam would call Tina later and tell her where she could pick it up. John didn't waste any time and soon they were driving away in the Impala, all their stuff packed in the trunk. Dean was quiet, distant, he hadn't said a word since they got in the car._

"_Did you cover your tracks?" _

_John looked at them in the rear-view mirror, his question directed at both of them. Sam glanced at Dean, unsure of what to reply. His brother was still not saying anything. _

"_What do you mean?" he asked._

"_People are gonna be looking for you two. You don't just disappear without people noticing you're gone. So, did you cover your tracks?"_

_Sam glanced over at his brother again, not sure what to say. Had they covered their tracks? _

"_Well?" __John demanded._

_This time Dean responded, he sounded tired. "No one knew where we were going, if that's what you mean, and we didn't leave anything behind that could lead them to us."_

"_Good. __Let's keep it that way. No contacting old friends, no looking back. We have to fly under the radar."_

_John's words had a certain finality to them and nobody in the car said anything after that, letting 'no contacting old friends', 'no looking back' eat away at them in the silence. Maybe Tina would never get her car back. _

_--_

_They crashed at a motel eight hours out of the city and during the long drive there John had had all the time in the world to think about what he'd brought his sons back into. He didn't have a home to offer them, not if being a family didn't count as having a home. He'd saved his oldest from a life of abuse which sure as hell made it all worth it for him and Dean. But he'd also pulled Sam from a caring family, from people that could offer him safety, a roof over his head, financial independency – even love. His love for Sam was greater, he was his father after all, but he'd known nothing but crime, one after another, and a life on the road for a long time. He had nothing to offer but love and a pathetic promise to always try to keep his boys safe. Would it be enough?_

_They paid for a twin bedroom and Sam got one of the beds, Dean the other. John sat in a chair by the door all night, waiting, waiting for something that would fuck all this up. In the same moment he'd gotten his sons back an old fear had awakened inside of him. The fear of losing them. He'd lived with this fear since Mary's death and now it was back, tenfold. His boys had lived ten years without him, without learning how to protect themselves from all the evil in the world. Did Sam even remember there were such things as monsters? Did Dean?_

"_Are you okay, dad?"_

_His eyes cut to the bed that was closest to the door and from where Dean was now looking at him. His son was so beat up John could see the bruising even in the dark and his heart bled._

"_Dean," he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat, "Do you remember when you were young?"_

_His oldest son was fair-skinned, much fairer in his complexion than himself and Sam. His features were softer. His hair was light…more like Mary's. Even the small freckles on his nose could be traced back to her. His eyes though, they were a combination of both his parents'. Not blue like Mary's. Not brown like his. Hazel. But as they looked at him now in the dark, they were almost black._

_It took a while before his son answered. _

"_A little. I didn't want to forget but…" His voice trailed off painfully and John knew what he was thinking. It was hard to remember without pictures and without faces to remind you. _

"_What do you remember?"_

_Dean breathed in softly, closed his eyes as if to call forth in his mind what had been locked away for so long. "We travelled a lot, stayed in different places. Sam was just a baby and you taught me how to take care of him…" _

"_What else do you remember?"_

_Dean replied, eyes still closed, "We were in the woods. It was night and Sam and I were alone in the car. I was afraid because you'd been gone so long. I remember I wanted to go look for you but I couldn't."_

"_Why?"_

"_You'd told me not to."_

_John drew a shaky breath, this he remembered all too well. "What happened then?"_

"_I opened the door…" Dean paused and whimpered softly. It was almost an inaudible whimper but John heard it. "It was all my fault. Everything. I didn't realize…" He fell silent as guilt took over. _

_John got out of his chair and sat down on the bed next to Dean. He hesitated only for a second before putting his hand on his son's shoulder. _

"_Dean, I'm sorry." __And, God, he was. "It wasn't your fault. None of it."_

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

Dean woke up to a hell of a headache just like he'd predicted. He was curled up in the chair next to Sam's bed and his whole body ached from him having slept like that. He stretched his arms back and winced when his shoulders cracked loudly. Sam was still asleep next to him, his breathing slow and even.

"Dean." John appeared in the doorway suddenly, two duffel bags in his hands. "Wake your brother, we're leaving." He tossed the bags to Dean who caught them without saying a word. "You know what to do." And with those words his dad was gone. Dean sighed. He should've known they would be moving on as soon as Sam got better. They'd been in the same place for almost two weeks, which was way too long by John Winchester standards.

"Sam," he said, shaking his brother gently. "Wake up. We gotta go."

Sam groaned at first, not asleep but not quite awake yet.

"Sam!"

Another groan. "What?"

"We're leaving. Pack your stuff."

In the end it was Dean who did both of their packing; jeans, socks and t-shirts thrown haphazardly into the duffels. Sam would've folded them. "C'mon," he said when he was done, "Dad's waiting."

--

Fifteen minutes later they were driving away, leaving another town, another temporary home behind them – like always. Dean never questioned it and neither did Sam but sometimes he found himself wondering what the hell they were still running from.

Six hours later when they stopped for gas, John turned around in his seat, fixing both his sons with a glare and Sam knew something was terribly wrong. "You got ten minutes to pee and stretch your legs," John said, "Go!" Dean got out of the car without a word and Sam followed suit. While Dean headed straight for the bathrooms, Sam went inside the station house and walked up to the cash register. The man behind the desk was his dad's age but fatter, his large belly resting on the table top. His nametag read 'Barry'.

"Yeah?" The man greeted. He looked bored.

"Is there a pay phone here somewhere?" Sam asked.

"Out the back," came the reply. The man was looking out the window at John refuelling the car, not at Sam, as he spoke.

"Thanks."

Sam cast his father a quick glance before he rounded the station building and went up to the pay phone. Putting the receiver to his ear he fed four five-cent coins into the machine and pressed the numbers to the person he so desperately needed to talk to.

They answered on the second ring.

"Hey. It's me," he said.

"Sam." She sounded relieved when she said his name. "I've been so worried about you. When you didn't call last week I thought maybe the police had gotten to you."

Sam coughed into his fist. "I'm fine," he said. "We stayed at the cabin longer than planned and there were no phones nearby so…"

"How's Dean?"

She always asked about him.

"He's good." He paused shortly before continuing. "I just wanted to let you know that we're on the move again and that I'll call you as soon as I know where we'll be staying. So, talk to you soon, okay?"

"Sam. Wait." She hesitated, voice trembling a little. "I need to tell you something…"

Sam checked his watch. His ten minutes were almost up and he needed to take a leak before they got back on the road. "What?"

It took a moment for her to answer. "Sam… Dean's friend Kyle was knifed down two days ago. He's in the hospital, they're not sure if he's gonna make it."

Sam inhaled sharply. "What?!" He'd heard her well enough but his mind was spinning all of a sudden and it was as if her words didn't make any sense. Knifed down? It just couldn't be.

"The cops don't have a suspect. They think it was just a random act of violence and that Kyle just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"My God…" Sam whispered, still not believing he'd heard her right. "I can't believe it…"

"I know. It's horrible." She forced back a sob. "I know Dean haven't been in contact with him since you guys left but I thought he'd want to know."

Sam leant on the glass of the phone booth for support, his legs suddenly too weak to carry him. This would kill his brother. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Dean calling his name from afar.

"Sam!"

"I gotta go," Sam said hurriedly into the phone. "I'll call you later."

He hung up before Tina got a chance to say anything.

The walk back to the car was hard, his feet heavy and his eyes hot and stinging. All he could think about was Kyle and what a good friend he'd been to them and how devastated Dean would be after Sam told him.

**TBC**

**Reviews are heaven!**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

"_It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it is one damn thing _

_over and over."_ -- Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sam said nothing as he walked up to the car and got in the seat next to his brother. Their dad didn't know about Kyle and even though Sam felt he had a right to stay in contact with Tina, he still didn't want his dad to know he'd disobeyed one of their most important rules. The rules were meant to protect them, he knew that, even though he didn't always agree with them. Dean was as silent as earlier, something was clearly bothering him.

They spent another five hours in the car, driving past one washed out landscape after another, until finally John stopped the car by a road motel and got out.

"Get the stuff out of the trunk," he said in a low voice before he turned his back to them and crossed the small parking lot, headed towards a building with a sign that said 'Manager'.

Sam and Dean got out of the car wordlessly and Dean got their bags while Sam walked slowly up the pathway towards the building their dad had just entered.

"Dude, some help here," Dean grunted, balancing two bags in his hands and one on his knee as he tried to close the trunk.

"Sorry," Sam said absentmindedly and turned back to relieve his brother from one of the duffels. He was still in shock from the news about Kyle.

They walked side by side, in silence, towards the main building and stopped when they met their dad in the doorway. John grabbed one of the bags from Dean and motioned for them to follow him.

Their room was small and smelt like dirty socks. Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust, dropped his duffel to the floor and turned to his brother.

"There was a vending machine round the corner. Wanna get a soda?" He knew Dean would take the bait. After eleven hours in the car they would both do pretty much anything to not have to spend more time sitting on their asses. And especially not in a small, offensively hot and stinking motel room.

"Sure."

--

Dean popped two aspirins in his mouth and dry swallowed them while he waited for Sam to get their sodas. His headache had gotten worse during the hours spent in the car and stars burst painfully behind his eyes every time he tried to move his head.

"Here."

Dean looked up, his back bouncing off the wall he was leaning against as he straightened. Sam offered him one of the Cokes he'd gotten and watched as Dean popped the cap off with his silver ring.

"Hey…Dean…" he hesitated. There was just no good way to break this kind of news and he wasn't sure where to begin.

"What's up?" Dean took a sip of his Coke, still oblivious to the fact that Sam was trying to tell him something important.

"You know Kyle…"

Dean froze. This was the third time today that he was reminded about his past, the things he wanted to forget. Coincidence? _I think not._

"Uh, yeah?" he replied, not quite sure where Sam was going with all this. They hadn't talked about Kyle for a long time, not since the day they left, in fact. It'd just been easier that way.

"I talked to Tina before and…"

Dean almost dropped his Coke at that. "You what?!"

Sam didn't look at him, just continued talking. "I know. It was wrong. But that's not what I wanted to tell you." He spoke fast, words tumbling out of his mouth, as if he didn't want Dean to interrupt him. "She told me something, she told me something about Kyle."

Dean gaped at him and Sam felt more than a little uneasy as he carried on.

"Kyle was attacked a couple of days ago. Somebody stabbed him."

This time Dean's Coke hit ground, glass shattering at his feet, cold liquid spraying up the front of his jeans.

"He's alive," Sam said hurriedly, "but Tina said it's bad."

Sam had thought he'd known what Dean's reaction would be but Dean turning around and walking away from him hadn't been it.

"Dean, wait!"

But Dean didn't.

--

It was late when his brother got back to their motel room. The door opened and closed softly behind him as if nothing had happened three hours earlier. Sam glanced at Dean as his brother toed off his boots and got in the bed next to his.

"Where have you been?" John demanded gruffly. He'd been out of his bed and halfway to the door before Dean had even opened it.

Dean didn't answer, just pulled the covers over him and closed his eyes and Sam wondered briefly if maybe his brother had now closed himself off completely emotionally. He'd been almost scary quiet lately, hardly showing emotion towards anything. Maybe the thing with Kyle had been the last straw – the thing that pushed him over the edge.

--

Sam was in deep sleep, dreaming about knives and blood running between his fingers when he was suddenly and violently shook to awareness.

"Sam, your brother's gone."

And just like that Sam was wide awake.

"What?!"

"He's gone!"

John pushed a crumbled up paper into Sam's hand, eyes wide and confused. The note hadn't made any sense to him, maybe it would to Sam.

--

Five minutes. It took only five minutes for them to pack their stuff and be on their way. John strode across the lawn towards the parking lot like a missile locked on target, and Sam scurried along, half-running as all of their belongings bumped against his back. John was fuming but not from rage. Sam had learned how to read his old man by now and it wasn't anger but fear that had John all wired up. His dad's entire persona reeked of fear and it was rubbing off on Sam. Dean's note had been short but to the point and after Sam had deciphered it for John and told him about his phone call to Tina it was pretty clear to both of them where Dean was headed.

"I can't believe he took the Impala," John mumbled to himself, voice trembling slightly.

Sam stopped briefly to scratch an itch on his neck. He couldn't believe his brother had taken off without him. They were brothers. Family. They didn't just ditch each other like this.

John scoured the parking lot quickly before picking out a new and shiny Mercedes for them. Sam knew why his dad chose the nicest looking car in the parking lot. One, it was probably the fastest and they needed to go fast to catch up with his brother. And two, a person who could afford such a nice car would also afford to lose it. Their dad had taught them how to steal, but also to choose their victims wisely. He looked on in silence as his father broke into the car and hotwired it with an expert's ease.

"Get in," John ordered, and Sam got in the passenger seat without a word. Dean's absence had taken precedence to his father's anger at him. He knew his dad was furious with him for disobeying orders and he knew the time would come for him to hear it. But right now all of John's attention was focused on one thing only – to get Dean back and fast.

--

He didn't cry. He couldn't. He hadn't cried for a long time now. Sometimes he thought maybe he'd left a piece of himself back there, like his humanity or something, the one part that hurt when stuff like this happened; the one part that broke when someone pushed too hard. He'd decided a year ago, standing on that stretch of road with his dad's hand on his shoulder that he had to leave everything behind. Everything. Most of his childhood and teenage years had been horrible anyway with few good memories mixing with all the bad ones. But it seemed like he had not only left that behind but also the part of him that let him feel anything.

He was tired again. The same way he'd been tired a year ago. His eyes were burning and not from lack of sleep or from crying but from a heat he couldn't explain. His muscles ached and his head hurt worse than ever.

He gripped the steering wheel harder and forced himself to think about something else - something nice. For a second he saw Sammy before his brother's image was erased by memories of being taunted and beaten senseless by pricks twice his age. Those memories were then mixed with good ones, parts of his life that had not been tainted by violence and pain. Everything replayed in his mind like some fucked up VHS about his life. He realized then that he had never forgotten, he just hadn't let himself think about it for a long time.

--

He drove for twelve hours straight before he pulled over at a roadside diner to get something to eat. He wasn't really hungry but he had to take a moment to relax - to find his inner peace or whatever crap Sam called it. He needed to be calm and right now he was as far from it he could possibly be.

He merely glanced at the menu before he took a seat and waved the waitress over to him.

"One special, side of bacon, and a coffee, please."

The waitress stared him down and smiled approvingly.

"Coming right up, sugar."

She was a pretty girl, curvy, and her brown hair was tied into a loose ponytail. She was hot and she knew it. She wore a white, simple but tight, dress that showed off her body in just the right way. Not too sexy, but not boring either. Dean was usually more appreciative of things like that and usually paid more attention to girls like her. But not today. He was in deep thought, eyes fixed on his hands as he twisted them nervously.

The girl huffed and turned on her heel, disappearing behind the bar desk, her ponytail bouncing with every step. She didn't know that her workplace was only a couple of blocks away from her customer's old home, nor would she care if she did.

--

It took Dean almost half an hour to choke down his food. He'd never had such a hard time eating before. Refuelling didn't really make him feel any better but at least it had lessened the ache in his stomach and given him some time to think things over. He knew what to do now, how to tackle it all. He would go to the hospital and see Kyle and make sure he was okay then he would go back to his dad and Sam and force himself to forget again. It didn't have to be complicated if he made it simple.

**TBC**

**Reviews are love!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: And on to chapter four. ****It's shorter than the other chapters but I wanted to get it out and posted so…**

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**CHAPTER FOUR**

"_There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered." _-- Nelson Mandela

He was watching the hallway intently from his hiding place. Every person passing him was measured, sized up, before being disregarded as unknowns. It took several days before his long wait finally paid off.

He picked up his scent before he even saw him - the other boy had done his friend a great disservice by wearing his clothes. His scent was now familiar too him, easily recognized. He licked his lips greedily as the boy passed him, savouring the moment as the pumping of blood reached his ears. Not long now before he could get revenge.

--

Dean didn't dare call the Ritters. He'd been gone a year and they probably thought he'd been kidnapped or died or something. Calling them would just not be a good idea. He'd have to make it on his own, fly under the radar as his dad always said, and just hope he wouldn't run into anyone he knew.

He parked his dad's car in the parking lot by the hospital and got out. He'd never thought he'd be so grateful for having lived in such a small city. The fact that there was only one hospital here sure made it easier for him in finding Kyle. Finding the ward and Kyle's room was a bit harder though. He was afraid to ask for him at the nurse's station. What would he say if they asked who he was? What would he do if they called Kyle's parents? He didn't know. All he knew was that he had to work fast. In and out and then disappear. His dad had taught them early on not to draw too much attention to themselves or stay in one place too long. He had pretty much disregarded all of his dad's rules by coming here but he still knew to be careful.

It took a little guessing on his part and some carefully chosen questions before he found himself on the right floor with Kyle's room number scribbled on the palm of his hand: 666.

As he crossed the hall he had no idea he was being watched or that someone would recognize him for who he used to be. He only had one thing in mind and that was to see his friend and make sure he was okay. He stopped briefly outside the room and put his ear to the door. The room was quiet. Almost scary quiet.

He glanced over his shoulder quickly to make sure he wasn't being watched or followed then he opened the door and went inside. He walked up to the bed slowly, suddenly afraid of what he was going to see, and stopped with a small gasp at the sight of his old friend.

There was a tube down his friend's throat and behind the bed, tucked away in the corner, was a ventilator. Dean stared at the machine fearfully and blinked when it hissed. Kyle's chest moved in sync with the hissing. Up. Down. Up. Down. Kyle's breathing, or rather the machine's breathing for him, was even and hadn't the ventilator sounded like Darth Vader in the Star Wars movies, Dean would've felt more at peace with it. He stepped up to the bed, hesitantly putting his hand over Kyle's. Had Kyle been awake he would've slapped his hand away and called him a pussy. But he wasn't and Dean closed his hand around Kyle's cold fingers without being called anything.

"Hey, buddy," he whispered and hawked awkwardly. "Missed me?"

It was weird talking to someone who didn't answer and even more so when it was someone he hadn't spoken to in such a long time. Whatever he was going to say would fall flat, he knew, because there was nothing he could say that would make this okay. His eyes travelled over his friend again and stopped at his chest. Kyle was tucked beneath several blankets although the room itself wasn't that cold. Gently Dean pulled the covers down until he could see the damage that had been inflicted on his friend. Kyle's chest was covered with bandages, strips carefully put over each of the places where the knife had gone into his body. Dean counted them; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…and soon realized how well placed each of the cuts were. It seemed as if Kyle's attacker hadn't been out to kill, but to seriously wound. But why would anyone do that? And why would they hurt Kyle?

He pulled the covers back up with a small frown and sat down in a chair that had been drawn up to the bed. It was probably the same chair Kyle's parents sat in when they visited.

Dean dared another glance at Kyle. He looked dead; paler than ever – and the guy was usually white enough to blind you - and his skin was cold and clammy. There was a small tube protruding from Kyle's neck, Dean was pretty sure it was called a central line, which was attached to a drip of some kind. Dean watched in fascination as the milky drip fluid dripped into a small chamber and then down the tube into Kyle's neck. He wondered briefly if it was actual milk they were feeding into his friend. _Yeah, probably not._

"You've probably been wondering how Sam and I have been doing," Dean said in a low voice, a little surprised at what he was saying and that his mouth had suddenly decided to talk without his consent. "Well, Sasquatch has grown about five inches since you last saw him, I swear the kid's like a friggin' beanstalk or something." He chuckled. "But he's doing great, you know, he's a smart kid." He paused and breathed in slowly through his nose to steady himself. "And me…," he hesitated shortly, not quite sure how to continue, "I'm doing better - a lot better. I missed you though…" He laughed a little at how chick flick-y he sounded. "You were a good friend to me, Kyle, and I won't forget it."

He stopped to drag his hand over his eyes and when he started to speak again, his voice was serious.

"I know you're not doing so great right now, man, but you have to promise me that you will get better, okay?"

The ventilator hissed and Kyle's chest rose but other than that the room was quiet. Dean drew a shaky breath. "So…I have to go but--"

He was cut off when the door opened. He let go of Kyle's hand in an instant and whirled around to find himself face to face with a middle aged nurse.

"Who are you?" she asked, sizing him up. "You didn't sign in at the desk."

"Yeah. Um, I'm sorry. I forgot...," Dean stammered, getting off his chair quickly. "I was just… I'm gonna go, okay?"

The woman narrowed her eyes. "That sounds like a good idea."

Dean backed towards the door, hands slightly raised. "I'm sorry," he apologized again before backing out the door and taking off down the hall.

The nurse shook her head at him. _Kids today had no respect for rules._

--

He wasn't prepared when the kid suddenly ran past him down the hall and therefore couldn't reach him before the elevator doors had closed behind the boy. He wasn't too worried about it though, he'd picked up the boy's scent and knew he could find him whenever he wanted to.

--

Dean exited the building with a racing pulse, worried that the nurse had called security on him. He knew he couldn't stay and that he probably wouldn't be able to see Kyle again but he couldn't just leave either. Kyle had looked worse than he'd imagined and he wasn't sure his friend was gonna make it. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn't stay at the hospital. He had to go. He made his way towards the car and was just about to get in the driver's seat when someone grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?!"

--

"What the hell did you think you were doing?!" John roared into his brother's face and Sam watched in shock as Dean visibly shrunk back at their dad's voice. John had never yelled at him, or Sam, like this before.

John didn't wait for Dean to answer, just grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and forced him into the car. Dean was pushed to the passenger side as John got in behind him and settled behind the wheel.

"Sam! Get in!" John growled and Sam quickly got in the back, their bags still in his hands.

The drive back seemed longer than twelve hours as John continued to yell at Dean, his fears and worries suddenly morphed into anger - Sam knew he was partly to blame for that. Dean was quiet the entire time, eyes fixed on the passing landscape, and Sam wondered if he even heard their father. Apparently, so did John.

"Are you listening to me?!"

Dean turned his head towards their father, but didn't meet his eyes. He looked defeated. "Yes, sir."

"What do you have to say for yourself?!"

Dean was silent for a moment and Sam watched him anxiously.

"It was stupid…and I'm sorry."

A chill ran down Sam's spine at his brother's reply. He sounded like he'd done when Reinhold had yelled at him and that was just wrong in so many ways. Their father shouldn't be able to elicit such a response from Dean; he shouldn't make him say that - not like this. It was just wrong. Did he not know how badly Dean had been treated? How many times he'd been yelled at?

"Sorry?!" John went on, "Sorry doesn't even begin to cover it! You put yourself at risk, you put this entire family at risk. How could you do something like that?! You know better!"

"I'm sorry," Dean said again, his voice almost a whisper, "I didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean to?!"

Sam could sense the pattern of repetition and decided to intervene before their dad completely destroyed his brother.

"It's not Dean you're mad at," he said, cutting into his father's yelling, "You're mad at me. If it hadn't been for me Dean wouldn't even have known about Kyle in the first place. So don't yell at him, he's been through enough."

John fell silent for a moment as Dean shot Sam an angry look.

"You're right."

Sam and Dean's eyes met in confusion, none of them had expected their dad to say that. John glanced at Sam in the rear view mirror. "You're absolutely right."

"I am?" Sam was unsure what to think.

John planted a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed it. "I'm sorry, Dean. I was wrong. I was scared for you, for us, but I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Dean stared at John with wide eyes. "It's okay, dad."

--

He looked on as the boy met up with his family in the parking lot and instantly recognized the older man. It was the man that had destroyed his life. He hadn't known that the boy and the man knew each other but was more than thrilled to find this out. It was perfect, like poetic justice in a way, that both the people he wanted revenge on were heading the same way.

**TBC**


End file.
